That's the Thing About Dreams
by Allagenda-domsitzers-chan
Summary: Another 'what if' fic. What if Joey got drafted- right before things would have gone to hell. In short, an AU where Joey actually can be an Okay Character, If Only For a Few Minutes Every Now And Then. Someone's probably already written this... and I am bad at summaries. (I'm calling it the Animator Reversal AU. It's also on tumblr! ...somewhere.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: holy fucking shit why. Why am i doing this nobody asked for this

What the fuck

uuuuuuuUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH i'm actually doing this

I'm almost 90% sure this idea already exists somewhere, but I can't find it. If anyone knows who the fuck first made it then please tell me so i can direct people there. If not then holy shit i had an original idea? ( _hahahahahahaha_ yeah no.)

Anyways, I don't quite have any good names for this fucking fic so prepare for utter and complete BS no matter what I settle on. I mean, the entirety of this fucking AU is just summed up with the words What If Joey Got Drafted (instead?) (as there is no canon things telling us Henry got drafted) (but it is literally the one HC everyone, _EVERYONE_ HCs) (so i mean)

And finally, i have no fucking skill in writing certain things. You know, like a proper intro and all that jazz. So i apologize ahead of time.

Enjoy.

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"Joey? You doing alright?" Henry leaned into his friend's office, but froze.

The man was sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. A letter laid loftily on top of all the varied sketches and designs that were scattered across the overused workspace. An inkwell had been tipped over, the ink dripping lightly into a puddle. As Henry spoke, he turned and stood, shoving all the paper further up on the desk.

"Ah! Henry! Yes, yes, I'm doing fine. I was just taking a break, as a matter of fact. Care to join me?"

Henry frowned. Something was off, but he couldn't quite tell _what_. "Yeah…"

"Great! Come on."

Joey walked off, but Henry stayed in the doorway, staring at the desk. Soon he found himself pulling down one fold of the letter, and scanning it. He knew it would probably be fine- Joey read most of the letters he got.

As he read, though, his face went pale. He folded the letter, slipped it back on top of the other paper, and walked to the break room.

This probably wasn't going to end well.

* * *

Within twenty minutes, Joey was slumped in a chair in the break room, and already the contents of the letter were out and already spread through at least three floors of the studio.

"You? _You_ are getting _drafted_."

Joey sighed. "Yes, I'm pretty sure that's what it said."

Henry shifted in his seat. As soon as he'd made it down to the break room, he'd pulled Joey aside and asked him about the letter. Of course, in an animation studio with this many people and only one break room every three floors, there were at least two people taking their breaks no matter when you checked. And it just so happened that Sammy was taking his break in the ground floor break room.

Currently, the music director was leaning against the wall, eyes shut. "So now what?"

"Yeah, now what?" Wally, sitting in a chair propped by the doorway, looked up. "How's this supposed to work out? It's already crazy enough with you here- if you leave, I don't think we're gonna be able to keep this place in one piece."

A chorus of agreements filled the room from the various staff who had already made their way upstairs. Susie had been one of the first, and instantly she began firing off questions one after the other- but as more and more people arrived, it'd just gotten louder and louder- until finally Sammy got everyone's attention and forced most of them to go back to work. Quite a few remained, though, and they were finally using up the chairs that had been haphazardly placed in the break room.

Something that Joey didn't really enjoy, but….

"So, how many days?"

"Four. Four days." He put his head in his hands. "And just when I had the _perfect_ idea…"

"What, you were gonna give me a raise?" Several people chuckled, and Joey raised his head just enough to glare at Sammy for a moment.

"Seriously, though, what are we going to do? Are we going to take a hiatus…?"

Silence. Then, Joey shook his head. "No, no stopping now. We've gotten this far- even if I'm not going to be here, things shouldn't stop here." He stood. "Alright, here's the plan- Henry is officially in charge." The animator blinked as Joey pointed at him. "But, Sammy- you're in charge of making sure Henry doesn't screw up anything major. You know what, Franks- you're also in charge of Henry."

"Hell, just put everyone else in charge of Henry and call it a day," Thomas muttered.

Henry groaned from his seat. "You don't trust me to run this place, yet you call me the co-owner."

"Don't worry. I knew you didn't want to really do anything business wise, so I'm pushing it on them."

"And you're the one who spent an outrageous amount of money on a whole _toy factory_ , but _I'm_ the untrustworthy one…"

"Hey, that toy factory's got a nice profit."

"And I _don't_?"

* * *

Three more days saw Joey Drew on his knees, tracing ink onto the floor slowly and carefully with one hand, the other set against an open book.

Finally, he finished, and stood, picking the book up.

A fully drawn pentagram laid on the floor, still gleaming and fresh. It was surrounded by lit candles and a ton of uncapped, full inkwells.

Joey took a deep breath, bringing the book closer. He only had a little bit of time left. If this worked, it could keep the studio afloat while he was gone. It would last long enough for him to come back. Because he _would_ come back. (He had to think he _would_ because if he thought he _might_ then that left room for doubt and that meant he believed, at least a little, that he _could very much die out there and bleed out in a foreign place with nobody recognizable in sight and all his dreams stuck in his head where nobody can reach them-_ )

Joey _would_ return.

He reopened the book, flipping to the correct page. The page he'd handwritten, having used well over thirty different books as a reference. The entire book was basically one giant reference for the varied things he wanted to pages filled with pentagrams, some with character sketches, some with rants and ramblings about anything he could think of.

Due to one of the thoughts he'd had when writing, it had the thought provoking title of _The Illusion of Living_ sketched on with a bit of white pencil. Not that it would ever be published, of course.

Joey paused for a moment- allowing the doubt to seep in. _It's not going to work. It's going to go wrong. Something doesn't feel right._

Then. he shook his head. No, this would go right. It had to.

He took another breath and began chanting. As he spoke, he noticed the lines on the circle beginning to darken- and then the ink _moved_. He stuttered, nearly botching a word, but managed to catch himself and continue.

The ink pulled itself from the inkwells, gathering in a point in the middle of the circle. It began to rise, forming a shaky pillar that nearly reached Joey's shoulders. As Joey spoke the final words, it sunk back down slightly- and began to form a definitive shape.

Joey finished the chant- and the ink paused.

Then it collapsed.

Joey cried out, looking at the page- then put the book down and kneeled next to the circle.

The ink broke the confines of the circle, but remained inanimate. It didn't move any further, simply remained a pile of ink on the floor.

For a while, Joey waited. Maybe he'd said one of the words wrong. Maybe there wasn't enough ink. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But soon enough, a clock chimed- and he checked his watch. His shoulders sagged.

His time was up. This was his last day in the studio- his last chance. But it hadn't worked.

He shut the book, and set it back on the desk. Blew out the candles. Then, silently, he walked out, not turning back, leaving the ink puddle on the floor.

He shut the door just as the ink rippled.

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A/N: So for some reason, whenever I think of an actual image of Joey now, all I can see is Cave Johnson. The younger one. The one that thinks he's got all his shit together and he can test on Olympiads and astronauts! Yeah that one. That's what I imagine Joey looks like. So when I write Joey, I can't help but imagine this guy that looks a lot like Cave Johnson. If, ya know, Cave failed to raise enough money for Science™ and had to settle for cartoon business instead. And decided to dabble with magic because he couldn't afford Science™. Because you know what, fuck Science™. what did it ever do for him.

So there's that.

Anyways there's probably a million and one errors with this but i cannot care enough to fix anything at this point so

On a side note, i sometimes regret putting certain songs in my because i don't like them, but because i really do not need _that_ mood when writing _this_ story. Like, i love the sound, but i do not need this mood. This is supposed to be a SERIOUS scene, not really silly. Stop making me crack dumb jokes with little taste.

Something serious. I'm pretty sure Henry knew the toy factory existed- where else could the plushies have come from- but never got to see it or anything. Just found out that it was there and was like _joey why_

So, there's chapter 1. Who knows when chapter 2 will arrive?... I sure don't hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha _sorry_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: hah

Congrats guys. It's a nother chapter of bULL SHIT

Summary of this chapter: tying up thirty years in a certain amount of words. Yey. also know as i get lazy and shortcut on _everything_

And hey I got another sentence summary for this AU! 'I give myself more reasons to cry myself to sleep'! :D Oh! And, 'I make completely irredeemable characters likeable Instance #478!' Woo!

Thanks to RainFlight31039 and Dancing-Ink-Demon! Both of you reviewed _and that made my day so thank you so much_

Enjoy.

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The next eight years were, in short, hell.

It went from basic training to straight up front-line work. Not that he was anywhere _really_ important- but it sure wasn't pretty.

It could be summed up as _fire, guns, screaming, blood, bad things everywhere_ and _I can't breathe but I have to keep moving_.

Of course, that wasn't the entire thing. Of course there were breaks. Of course there were moments of peace. But not often.

Sometimes, though, the noise would stop. The gunfire would die down, the screams became a little quieter. Things would calm down, and there were times when a whole group would band together and relax, talk, have a drink. Something to take your mind off the insanity that laid ahead and that lurked behind. The calm before the next storm rolled in.

But, of course, those moments were few and short. They happened often, but not often enough to make a huge difference. At first, the conversations had been simple, normal- but soon those who made it through the day had different things to talk about rather than the news and whatnot.

Eventually, they talked about dreams.

Some talked about their families, showed off a few photos that they dared bring with them. Some talked about their spouses, hours of endless poetic about what was the reason they loved their spouse the most. Some talked about what they were going to do when (never if, always _when_ ) they made it back, talked about jobs and careers and college and _futures_.

And, listening to them, Joey was constantly reminded of his own dream.

He never said it aloud- but he was going to get back there. Fix whatever issues had undoubtably arisen in the time he was gone. Using the many ideas at his disposal, finally bring the studio into fame- make it a household name. And then, they were gonna be _rich_. With enough popularity, he could finally do a _lot_ of things. It was gonna be _great_.

But that dream remained in his head, because there was always the little whisper of _what if_.

And time passed, filled with the same things just about every day- but with just enough variance to make it different than the day before. Just enough new things to make _today_ different than _yesterday_ \- because one day _this_ person will be here- and another day, they're gone.

And yet, Joey survived.

Not completely, though. Bits and bits of a person can flutter away every day in a war, like ashes on the wind once the fire's gone out. But those can be the lucky ones- some people get caught in the flames, and even though they make it out, they're never the same. They get tagged _unstable_ and _unsafe_ \- and they may never make it home anyways.

Sometimes, the lucky ones seem to be the ones who don't leave the battlefield.

Soon enough, though, a bullet in his left arm got his an honorable discharge and a medal. Soon, he was out.

Soon, Joey was finally allowed to step back inside his own house for the first time in eight years, in the middle of the night- something thousands of others would never get to do.

He looked around, but there wasn't much to see. Even in the dark, it was obvious- everything was plain, bare and simple. Nothing much was left out except for the furniture. He made his way down to his room, trying to keep his eyes open so he didn't trip on anything.

After pulling the dusted, untouched comforter from the bed, pulling another one out of the equally dusty closet, the first thing he did was sink into bed and pull the covers over his head, mindful of the cast covering his arm. He was out in seconds.

Upon waking up, Joey forgot where he was- just for a minute.

Then, he remembered and stood, pulled open the curtains- winced at the light, then choked on the dust- and took a minute to look outside before heading out to get groceries, exercise and information- his fridge was empty, he'd been laying around for quite a while- and he had quite a few questions.

Three hours later, Joey managed to get a semblance of normal in the old house. The groceries were put away, utilities were back, and a stack of old newspapers sat on the table. It was still dusty as hell, of course, but he felt too tired to clean one handed. He took a minute to breathe- then went to the phone, pulling out a handwritten booklet. Flipping it open, he read one of the many numbers listed inside, then set the booklet down and tapped in the number.

He waited.

Soon, though, the operator was speaking, _the number you are attempting to reach does not exist-_ but he set the phone back down.

It was fine, Joey told himself. It's not like he knew what he would have said anyways. It'd been eight straight years with no response… of _course_ Henry probably wasn't going to answer that number… he'd probably gone through a ton of phone numbers...

Instead, he sat down at the table, pulling the stack of newspapers closer. A gift from one of the neighbors- an older man who said _they might interest you. Knew you worked at that one place…_

* * *

It took three days to reach the one. Three days of skimming through a few each day, and finally one popped out- the one his neighbor had wanted him to see.

 _Joey Drew Studios Bankrupt_

Joey stopped reading through the newspapers.

He didn't directly admit it to himself, but he knew that that was the _point_. The point everything was defined as _changed_ \- as something inside gave up when reading it. _Something_ crumbled into pieces- dissolved, into thin air. And he knew exactly what it was- the last few remaining scraps of an old hope.

A normal person might have gotten depressed.

Instead, he pulled out a sketchbook and a pen. He drew every character he could remember ten times over. He sketched out anything and everything that came to mind. For hours, Joey Drew sat in an empty house, hunched over a sketchbook.

Eventually, though, he lost focus. His eyes drifted to the header on the paper, and the date. Soon, he set the sketchbook down, and stood to get something to eat.

It hadn't even been two full years. They hadn't even lasted two full years.

No wonder the studio's phone had been listed as _non-existent_. There probably wasn't any power left. Hell, the place was probably in shambles by now- if it hadn't been replaced with something else…

Honestly, he'd prefer to see it in shambles. Even if technically it wasn't his anymore. He'd rather see the little bit of his dream he'd managed to make real than someone else's dreams flourishing in his place.

* * *

Time came and went. The house got fixed up, cleaned. Filled a little more. Sketchbooks began appearing all over the place- Joey would start in one, sketch whatever came to mind- then he'd leave it somewhere and get an idea, and would start in another one. They were the only thing that made the place seem off- the only thing that wasn't quite normal.

The only thing.

Joey didn't go out much at first. Sure, he talked to the neighbors when he went out, but didn't do anything major- until he realized he still needed a job. Sure, he had some money at the moment, but it wasn't enough- not enough to go the rest of his life without a job.

Soon enough he landed a job in one of the cities nearby- a job that paid enough. A job editing articles for a newspaper. Not the greatest, but not the worst- just something. A nine-to-five job. Simple.

But it wasn't really easy. There were only a few editors for the whole thing, and most of them had fought to only edit articles for certain topics. Joey, having not specified any preferences, got stuck with just about _everything_ else. There were about 30, two-thousand word articles written every two days on average, and while most didn't even make it into the paper, he still had to edit almost _each and every one that even had a miniscule chance of ever getting published_.

So he stayed up late a lot more.

Not that it mattered. Even when Joey finally finished and managed to get to sleep, something else kept the former animator up. Nightmares. They'd appeared shortly after his return- the night he'd found _the_ paper, as he'd called it. They weren't exactly easy to ignore, and after spending several minutes making his heart rate go down, he'd get up and start sketching again. He'd pour whatever he could from his mind onto the paper- and hardly anything that needed put on paper made a pretty picture. Those sketchbooks became journals more than anything else at this point.

So he stayed up a little longer.

Soon, though, he'd pass out- on the couch, a sketchbook in his hands, or at the table with one in front of him. Then he'd wake up a bit later and drag himself back to bed to sleep for just a few hours, until the sun rose and the day began anew.

Years passed like that.

* * *

Very little changed. Sometimes, Joey tried to call someone- anyone, anyone whose number was written in the little booklet- but none of them answered. He was lucky if someone, a relative or family member, picked it up and informed him that _no, she's not here…._ or, _sorry, we haven't seen him in a while…._ Eventually, Joey stopped calling- all except one number, because he _needed_ an explanation. Something.

Nobody answered.

One day, long after the cast was gone, after months and months of rehabilitation techniques helped bring back the use of his left arm, Joey drove to the studio- and was both glad and relieved.

It was still there- maybe not in one piece, but still there. The doors and windows boarded up, nothing visible from the outside, the sign faded and in pieces… but it was there.

After staring for a while, he finally got back in the car and left. Some part of him wanted to turn around- to go in. To pry the boards off and walk in.

But he didn't.

Instead, he went back home, and pulled out a sketchbook.

* * *

More time passed.

Some of the neighbors moved out, renovated their houses, or died. Eventually the neighborhood became full of young couples and their children- and somehow, they all wanted to ask Joey a million and one questions as soon as he walked out of the house. They pried, poked and prodded- one of them had seen him on the weekend, on his porch, sketching. Naturally, they were interested.

So one weekend he chose a blank sketchbook and brought it outside, then sat on the porch and waited. Within the hour the children appeared- and he let them sit next to him as he sketched. He started simple- a small sketch of Bendy. One of the children, who had apparently never heard of the toon, asked a small question- and from there everything snowballed.

Over the next few weekends, the neighborhood children learned about the entire crew- Bendy, Boris, Alice, anyone. Any of the characters that had ever appeared in an animation or unfinished idea appeared in the sketchbook, and were consequently asked about. Soon, Joey Drew had become a small legend of sorts- not just a reclusive animator, but the man the children flocked to to ask about a cartoon series that had been run into bankruptcy.

At first, the parents had been a bit wary- but the older residents were always outside when the children were, and watched- and assured the parents it was perfectly fine. Eventually, they relaxed- in fact, on Halloween one year, the kids managed to get their hands on an old projector through… suspicious means (having discovered one weekend that Joey still had some old reels stashed away in his closet) and found a big white sheet. Joey had the sheet lashed to the side of the house, then set up the projector and set a couple shorts running.

The kids loved it- and thus, it became a tradition.

Even more time passed.

The nightmares were still there, the job was still difficult. Not much had changed- but each weekend, he still went outside and sketched, and answered questions from the children. Something, at least, had gotten a little better.

Things were getting better.

And then, finally, a letter appeared in the mail.

Thirty years had come and gone, and someone had finally responded.

A letter addressed _Joey Drew_ , in a handwriting that the man didn't recognize until he opened it and read the writing within.

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A/N: the man's not okay and neither am i

I have made Joey a completely different person. But not entirely. I think that when he's talking to those kids, he's basically just answering their questions…. Then getting them interested in the show enough that they start to want to watch it. Basically a sales pitch to kids. And damn does it work.

Not that he can sell anything anymore, of course. Most of the reels and shit are at the studio- he probably just had the finished ones at his house. He probably has a lot of shit stashed away somewhere, a _just in case_ if something happened at the studio, like a fire…. Or bankruptcy.

Like, i'm actively avoiding making him _completely_ nice, or completely forgivable- I just crumpled most of his reasons to be an asshole, though, as far as we know- so I mean there's gonna be some changes. A lot. Eugh, I'm not really good at this crap….

Did i mention i regret this playlist? Yeah the corn nuts commercial is playing. You know the one. Look up _corn nuts radio commercial_ and it's the jingle. You'll know the one. You'll know because you'll see _why i regret putting it in this playlist while i'm writing THIS STORY-_

Next up: moving pictures! Yeah! Finally out of this bs! Yaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy _heh would you look at that, I have absolutely no resources for this… fuck. Time to watch some playthroughs yeAAAHHHH_

 **Edit:** what happened when I was writing this author's no- you know what, I don't want to know.

 **Double Edit** : The line breaks didn't appear! Sorry, might have been confusing without them... eugh, didn't realize...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: it's here. Chapter 3 of this damn thing.

 _so you know how I thought someone else already had this idea? yeah. found out who. **TWO** other people have already had this idea ahahahahhaaaa_

They're both on Ao3 so far. One story was by Star_Going_Supernova and the other was by KyeAbove… Nova's is only a chapter, but Kye's is 5 chapters, 10k words and running. so i mean

 _despaaaaiiiiirrrr_

 _(*cue junko enoshima cackling in the distance*)_

but gUESS WHAT? I ALREADY HAVE TWO MORE CHAPTERS DONE AND A THIRD ONE IN THE WORKS. THIS IS GETTING POSTED. I DIDN'T SPEND AN HOUR AND A HALF THINKING I'D LOST 4 HOURS OF PROGRESS FOR NOTHING

*kicks google docs in the shin*

Thanks to RainFlight31039 and Tazmanializard for reviewing.

Enjoy.

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 _Dear Joey,_

 _It's been a while since we've worked together. Thirty years, in fact. Time flies, I guess._

 _If you can, stop by the studio, if you've got the chance. There's something here I think you'll want to see._

 _Your old friend,_

 _Henry_

Joey stared at the front door of the studio for a while, then went back to his car and pulled open the trunk.

He grabbed a sketchbook, a pencil, a crowbar, and a spare bag. There were a lot of things he'd left behind that he wanted to get back- reels, books and frames. A lot. Maybe a few plushies for the kids, if he had time to go downstairs… If it all hadn't been destroyed when the place went down, or got ruined over the years.

Upon arriving, he'd thought- if Henry was here, then he'd probably have the door already unboarded. Then again, it never hurt to have something _just in case- just in case_ in this case taking the form of a hammer and crowbar. And the door was indeed still boarded up.

After grabbing these things, he looked around- but there was no sign of Henry being anywhere nearby. Just a few rusted cars off in the corner, but they looked like nobody had touched them in- well, thirty years. Plants and grass surrounded them, crawling over the windows.

Maybe Henry was planning to show up later or something… in which case, it certainly wouldn't hurt to look around and grab a few things while he waited for the other animator to arrive. Besides, knowing Henry, it'd take him an extra three or four days just to get ready.

So, with that in mind, Joey began prying the boards off the front door. Using both the crowbar and the hammer, he made excellent progress in a short amount of time. In less than a half hour, it was already clear. He put the hammer and crowbar in his bag and the sketchbook and pencil in his coat pocket.

Then, Joey Drew opened the front door and entered his own animation studio for the first time in thirty years.

He took a deep breath, then walked forwards.

The place was different. There were pipes, everywhere. Ink dripped constantly and everything looked old. Unused.

The lights were on, already, and an old projector was running, flashing nothing but light onto the wall.

"This place still gets power…?" He muttered, tapping the projector twice. He shook his head. Maybe Henry had called and had the power turned on. That was it. Obviously, he didn't want to stumble around in the dark- Henry was the one to put emergency candles on every floor. Just in case, of course.

As Joey walked around, he tried to open many of the doors- but most were locked.

And the ink- _it was everywhere_. Within minutes Joey had already gotten it in his hair, on his clothes.

Finally…. It felt _wrong_. The air felt stifled, filled with the scent of ink- ink and wood. Old wood. _This isn't right_ , something whispered in the back of his mind. _Something went wrong. Something aside from 'Bankruptcy'._

He did his best to ignore it, but he couldn't deny it was right. It sent every nerve on edge, and every sound seemed a little louder and slower than it should have been.

At some point, his hand reached back into his bag and pulled out the crowbar.

As he walked through, he found Henry's desk- which, now, had the wall behind it knocked out, opening into a new room.

The desk seemed like it'd been used- and recently. Not abandoned for years- no, this was _new_. There was a drawing- the ink was dry, but the paper was clean. A single swipe with his finger confirmed it.

Someone else had been here- Henry. He'd been here, and judging by the amount of dust in the air, within the week.

More importantly- was he still here?

Then he shook his head. No, the door had been boarded up… but why? If he wanted to invite Joey in to see something, then why board it up? Maybe he just hadn't wanted any others getting in and stealing anything? ...It didn't make sense.

Just as he was about to walk into the next room, Joey noticed something- a cassette player, with accompanying tape- stuck in the small space between the desk and the wall. Carefully, Joey used the crowbar to nudge it towards him- then caught it as it tipped over.

The tape had Henry's name written on it- but the tape, and the name, was _old._

Hesitantly, he pressed play.

" _It's not even been a week, and everything's already going downhill. We've got less funding than Joey made it out to be, and not enough time to take thirty-minute breaks. Sammy's got to spend hours at a time working on his own job- he doesn't have time to deal with all this. Wally's pretty busy too. It's been a lot more difficult to get even a few keyframes done in between random complaints and problems appearing. Thankfully, we've managed to get something mostly done- a small short. I'm sending it out on Monday. Maybe, by next month, we'll have enough to fix some of these problems. Maybe._ "

The tape clicked off, finished.

Joey frowned. Not even a _week_ , and they were already facing problems. No wonder the studio went down so fast- they couldn't even make it a _week_ without issues. But they should have had more than enough money- why was Henry making it sound like he'd _exaggerated_ the amount of money they'd had?

He turned, finally going into the new room- and noting the amount of desks scattered everywhere. As he moved, he swore the drawings of Bendy on the desks did as well- and once, he turned from a desk, then turned right back- and the drawing _had_ changed. It was a bit creepy.

He eventually made his way back through the main room, turning down the hallway- and stopping.

 _DREAMS COME TRUE_ was inked messily on the wall. He looked at it, and noted something- it wasn't that old.

 _Something is_ really _wrong_ , the little voice whispered. _This was a bad idea._

He ignored it, continuing down the hallway.

He found himself in a short hallway. At the end was a doorway with a plaque reading _INK MACHINE_ pinned over it. On one of the walls, an _INK OUTPUT SCHEDULE_ was pinned up- numbers scribbled in the columns. After climbing over a pipe that was placed inconveniently in the middle of the hall, he turned the corner-

And froze.

It was a huge room. And, taking up well over half the space, was a wide pit that seemed to go down into the void, chains trailing down.

At the moment, there wasn't much there- just the chains.

He quickly realized- there was a lift, and it just needed two cells. And after looking around, he found them, put them in… and pulled the lever.

Slowly, with a bit of noise, the chains began to move- and a contraption that Joey knew was the Ink Machine raised up to hover over the endless drop, pipes trailing from the bottom back into the darkness...

Overall, the thing was exceedingly crazy… and creepy. Why was there a bottomless pit? Why not just put a regular old floor down? Why would an… _ink machine_ need to be lowered down?

More importantly, _what did it do?_

After a moment of deliberation, he shook his head.

 _I'm not actually considering turning on the creepy, ominous machine. No, it's just the dust. I've breathed in so much of it that it's starting to replace my mind._

He pulled his hair out of his face, then groaned. He was actually considering it.

Which, in any and every instance he could think of, was a Bad Idea. Any cartoon character looking at it would instantly look back and go, 'Nope, nope, nope. That's a trap if I ever saw one.'

And yet.

"Damnit," he muttered, turning and leaving the room- and nearly falling onto his face trying to get over the inconvenient pipe.

Maybe he could just look around a little more, find something to take his mind off the ominous machine…Joey started moving, to one of the other hallways.

As he passed, he noticed one of the doors had a light shining underneath it- and muffled music played even though the door, but trying to open the door did nothing. He knocked, called out- but nobody answered.

The little voice kept whispering. _It's all wrong. Something very bad has happened here._

 _It feels like someone died._

Soon he found his way down a different hallway, going this way, that way, around there, through here-

And then a wooden board dropped in front of his face.

Joey jumped back, crowbar raised- then he looked around, and then up- and frowned.

 _That was an odd time for it to fall…_

He walked into a small room where six pedestals had been placed, three on each side of the room, each with a picture behind it. Each frame featured an object- a Bendy plushie, a cog, a record, an inkwell, a wrench….

And a book- a book with the title _The Illusion of Living_ lightly scratched on the cover in white pencil, and- almost as an afterthought, in a completely different handwriting, was scratched _By Joey Drew_.

A chill went down the former animator's back.

On the opposite end of the room, a button rested on the wall, with a panel beside it that read _LOW PRESSURE_ in softly flashing letters.

He shook his head, and left the room- then jumped at the sight of a Bendy cutout placed right in the middle of the hallway where there _certainly was not one before._

"How did you get there?" Joey looked around, but there was nothing- nothing but the sound of ink dripping. He shook his head, and turned to the right- then stopped.

Even from this distance, he could see. His legs moved automatically, his hands curled around the crowbar.

He came to a stop in the doorway, staring at the corpse of what was, without a doubt, _Boris the Wolf_ \- chest torn open, eyes X'd out and ink dripping….

"What the hell happened while I was gone…?"

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A/N: Anyways. Cue OOC. i have absolutely no clue how best to do this. All i know is chapter 4 ending fucked me up and i hate that chapter 5 is not here. So there.

Also, new audio logs are gonna be added in! As time goes on, more and more are going to hint at what happened to cause the downfall of the studio- and numerous other things. Like, why the hell all this shit's still here even though Joey wasn't.

Now i gotta go in and watch everything about the revamps and crap… eugh. Make sure i get everything….

Right now i'm going off memory. So yeah….

Also, I wanted to ask something. I have a few drabbles, not _all_ of them related to this AU, that are ready to be posted. If you want, I can make a separate little story for all my drabbles, and I'll throw things over there. What I want to know is if anyone has a question about the AU that I haven't answered yet. Hell, if I get enough questions I might make an ask blog

but that's a little out there. so i'll wait for a while before doing anything like that… I think.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: WOOO WE'RE GOING PLACES

YEAH

Anyways, this chapter should wrap up Chapter 1- and then begins everything else! Woo! It's short, but that's because I'm tired. Sorry.

Super special thanks to RainFlight31039 and Dancing-Ink-Demon for reviewing! It makes me unbelieveably happy to see your reviews- all of you. So thanks!

Enjoy.

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Joey shoved the cog onto its pedestal, watching the light above it flicker on- the final light.

He'd already gathered the other things- his book had been in the break room, the inkwell had been in the room next to Henry's desk…

The break room had looked the same, thankfully. Upon finding his book, he had flipped it open- and froze, remembering flashes of what he'd written back then. Now, thoughts like the ones he'd written down seemed almost childish. He kept flipping through, but eventually just shut it and tossed it in his bag.

Now, though, all he had to do was turn the valve for the ink pressure- and then the main power for the machine should turn on. He left the room, leaving the crowbar there as he went through the maze of hallways that made up the studio.

Honestly, turning on the machine was a _terrible_ idea- but maybe, just maybe- it might revive the cartoon wolf strapped to the table.. if he'd ever been alive in the first place.

But it was insane- he was completely made of ink. And yet, even… _dead,_ his form still stayed in one piece. What was holding him together?

What _had_ happened while he'd been gone?

As the was walking down the hallway to the ink pressure, a Bendy cutout poked its head around the corner- causing the former animator to freeze- before pulling itself back into place. After waiting a moment, Joey continued walking- and glared at the cutout that was sitting there, innocently.

And then the projector flashed on.

He stopped, watching the little loop animation of the Dancing Demon shine on the wall, whistling ringing through the room, before looking around the projector… but nobody was there.

Now he wasn't certain, but Joey was pretty sure bankruptcy on its own didn't cause weird events like _this_.

He turned the valve, and ink began _pouring_ into the room. Joey frowned as his shoes got _covered_ , coated in ink… thankfully, they weren't clothes he was fond of or anything.

But the wet shoes thing was going to be a problem.

He shuffled across the room, ink sloshing around as he made his way back onto higher ground. Another recording came to mind, one he'd found while looking for the various items…

" _At this point, the company's as good as gone. The animations sure aren't being finished on time anymore, and then there's the machine. It's noisy, it's messy, and who needs that much ink anyway? Also, get this- Henry had each one of us donate something from our workstations. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room. Said it was something to keep…_ something _in one piece. He's been getting more and more stressed out lately- wouldn't be surprised if he's losing it. He's the one writing the checks now, though. But I tell you what, if one more of these pipes burst, I'm outta here._ "

As Joey made his way back to the main hall, he heard clanging in the distance- banging…

Soon, he was back in front of the switch for the main power- which now had a little flashing _READY_ next to it. Slowly, he pulled the switch.

The lights in the room turned on. The pipes began groaning- and the panel next to the switch read _WORKING_. After a moment, he headed towards the room with Boris- the pipes in front of the table were leaking, but nothing else had changed… Joey's eye caught the sight of a pipe behind the table, which seemed to be completely off- and he sighed.

Looks like another trip around the inconvenient pipe was in order…

He was soon stepping over it, and turned the corner-

And froze.

The doorway had been halfway boarded up… undoubtedly, that was the banging noises he'd heard earlier. Someone had been putting the boards up- but who? And why?

Curious, Joey walked closer-

And fell on his back with a screech as _something_ ,something covered in ink jumped up and clawed at his face.

He sat up, and looked back- but the thing was gone- replaced by a flood of ink that was falling over the doorway, and into the hall.

He found himself tripping over the pipe and down the hall.

He didn't care _what_ was going to happen to the place at the moment- instead, he booked it for the exit. The amount of ink pouring from the pipes and ceiling wasn't just concerning- no, it was practically flooding. The place might be completely under in a few minutes.

And drowning by ink wasn't the way Joey wanted to go.

As he ran, gates began slamming shut- cutting off all other options. Warning bells went off in his head- _he was being corralled to the exit_. Not a good sign, but if that _thing_ wanted him out, he wasn't going to argue.

He didn't feel much like arguing at the moment anyway.

Boards fell from the ceiling as the ink went from a tiny layer to almost mid-calf in seconds. Joey found himself in the main room, a sign above happily pointing to the _EXIT_ \- he turned the corner, _the door was open the light shone through_ -

The little voice managed to whisper- _it's too easy, this is a trap_ -

And then the floor _collapsed_.

He yelped as his feet sunk through- and then he was falling-

 _Thud_.

Everything flashed white for a minute, as his head clipped the floor. Soon, though, the feeling of ink pouring onto him forced Joey to move- and he stood, moving away from the opening that was _filled_ with ink… ink that was _not_ flooding this area any more than it already had. He looked up- but it was only small streams of ink…

He shook his head. That was an issue he could deal with later, if he had to deal with it at all. He looked around, taking in the room- and seeing a tape sitting on a shelf across the room. He waded through the ink- it was _waist high_ \- before pressing play.

" _It's dark, and it's cold, and it's stuck in behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure I don't, or he's some kind of idiot. But the real worst part about all this… are them noises the system makes. Like a dying dog on its last legs. Make no mistake, this place… this…. machine… heck, this whole darn thing… it just isn't natural._ "

Slowly, Joey picked his way to the valve across the room and turned it- causing the ink to drain. The room cleared, and soon he found himself walking downstairs. A light on the stairwell flashed over a _DANGER- KEEP OUT_ sign

 _Maybe they should have just put one of those on the front door_ , Joey thought to himself.

He kept turning valves, kept going deeper and deeper… Soon, though, he found himself in a room where the next exit was boarded the wall someone had written _THE CREATOR LIED TO US._

Once again, Joey found chills going down his back.

He looked around a little more, finding an axe sitting on a workbench to the left. He took it, looking it over for a moment, and then looked at the boarded up doorway.

 _Convenient_.

Soon he had hacked his way through the numerous boards through the next hall. They were everywhere- scattered, filling the hall. But they weren't all put up- which led Joey to believe that whoever had started putting the boards up had to _stop_ midway.

Why would they stop?

Finally, he cleared the boards off a door at the end of the hall. He pulled it open-

And gripped the handle as the room _shuddered_.

 _Earthquake_ was the first thing that came to mind- but it didn't stop. He pulled himself into the room, slowly, noticing the pentagram on the floor, the candles around it, _were those really coffins-_

He found himself stepping onto the pentagram.

A flash, an image came to mind- the ink machine. He froze, but another image flashed- a chair- and suddenly he found it hard to breathe, and with another flash- the _thing_ -

Everything went black, and Joey collapsed on the pentagram.

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A/N: h e h

All changes are deliberate- just want you to know… and for the record, I am already enjoying this _immensely_.

Yeah, there's already a few changes- which are gonna snowball as time goes on. Shit's going out the window, and I've got a grand many _ideas_ …

I've even got several endings ready, but Chapter 5 is probably gonna make me toss them all out the window.. Don't worry- this entire story's probably gonna get re-edited when Chapter 5 comes out. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.

(* _cue angry shouts of Junko Enoshima in the distance_ *)

I am having trouble making this a longer chapter… eugh. time for filler shit i guess. buckle up kiddos we've got bullshit coming up ahead

For the record- Joey has a shoulder bag in this story. For ease of explaining things and whatnot. Because I doubt he'd want to shove a ton of hearts in his pockets, or just hold them casually. ( _ **hey puppet man if you're reading this how the hell DOES henry hold all those damn items? do they just ominously float behind him as he walks**_?)

Next chapter- We begin the bullshit anew, in _Chapter 2_! (Ha, that rhymed! I didn't even mean to do that wow)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2-

So hey! I'm back, and it's time for cHAPTER MOTHERFIPPITY 2-

Anyways. This is gonna be either fun, or a complete and utter pain in the neck to write (my bet's on the latter…). Who knows, though? (Future me. that's who. future me what's your status) (future iteration 1- i am not doing well. i am having small difficulties. oh my i did not spell that right _what is wrong with me what time is it_ ) (translation: it is 10:26 PM, i am covered in mosquito bites and this story is a pain.) (future iteration 2- i took a break. it's a whole new day… and I'm ending the chapter. why? because me, that's why. chapter 2's gonna be in at least 3 separate pieces… and chapter 3? hahahaha yeah that's gonna be in at least 3 too. at _least_. i'm not even gonna try for ch4. not yet.)

Edit: I thought this chapter was _gone_ today. So far, I've been writing all these little shits offline, google docs, you know? Well, today I got online- and when it went to sync my offline changes… _three of eight documents I'd created/edited offline had vanished_. Ofc, this scared me to no end- these things weren't fun to figure out, in terms of all the little pieces and bits- and I was flipping out. I thought I was going to have to rewrite at least three different stories.

Thankfully, I waited a little bit and they reappeared. Which is good. But that was terrifying…

oh yeah, forgot to mention. Listen up! From this point out, all formatting is being done on mobile. From chapter 7 on out, ALL WRITING AND FORMATTING is being done on mobile. So if there are any major formatting errors... that'd be why.

Thanks to Mathias Kekse for following and faving, and to RainFlight31039 for reviewing. (but _why_ does Henry have magical hammer space inventory?)

Enjoy.

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The first thing Joey was aware of was that his head was pounding.

"What hit me…?" He groaned, slowly pushing himself up. Once he was standing, he put a hand to his head. The throbbing was going away, but not fast enough.

He shut his eyes, waiting for it to go away. It didn't, but it became manageable.

He finally reopened his eyes, looking around the small room- and quickly stepping out of the pentagram. It _hurt_ to look at for some reason- the pulse in his head got worse even thinking about it.

He found himself picking up the axe, which, oddly enough, was now leaning against one of the coffins… and he knew he hadn't left it there as he'd passed out. Which meant _someone had been here and they moved his axe… but was that all they did?_

Joey sighed. It wasn't helping anyone to ask all these questions that- at the moment at least- had no answers. With that in mind, he looked towards the closed door in front of him.

 _Guess I've got no choice now… I've got to keep moving. Keep moving forwards_ …

He chopped the boards off the next door and started walking.

Another stairwell. This one proudly displayed a little sign that read _UTILITY SHAFT 9_. As he walked down, a board collapsed and fell from the ceiling- nearly causing Joey to slip and fall down the stairs. Thankfully, he caught himself.

As soon as he reached the bottom step, he looked up- and another line greeted him- _HE WILL SET US FREE_ \- scrawled next to a smaller version of the cutouts that were _everywhere_. The little shelf was filled with candles, and cans of bacon soup, some closed, some open and poured in bowls. A banjo was leaning next to the shelf, slightly dusty.

He walked further in, noting that most of the shelves were in a similar state to the first- except one had another cassette tape. He clicked play.

" _He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray that you hear me. Those old songs, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?_ "

The tape clicked off, and Joey frowned. He made to step back-

"I _said_ , can I get an amen?"

He spun around- and stopped.

Sammy Lawrence- his voice- _it had just been here, right behind him_. Joey was sure of it- he was here. Somewhere.

After a minute of silence, Joey took a deep breath and kept going. He'd never in his life heard the songwriter like that- and it was genuinely _creepy_. It was wrong, it was too calm, it was too… _off_.

By nature, he tended to be loud, impatient, and was easily distracted at times. He was also an amazing composer- the studio's only composer. With him around, there was no need for another. Sammy worked best alone, but made an exception for the lyricist- who, at first, he'd shown no mercy to. But eventually something had happened- and they were able to be in the same room and actually talk to each other.

Joey reached the next hallway- and stopped. It was _flooded_ with ink. Knee high at _least_ , and it looked positively _repulsive_. After taking a moment to sigh- his shoes and socks had finally been dry when he'd woken up- he stepped in and began wading to the other side.

And then, halfway down the hall, he heard muttering. Whispering- and then a dark figure clad in white overalls appeared, walking past the doorway- carrying a Bendy cutout under its arm.

The voice, while quiet- was unmistakable.

"Lawrence? Lawrence! What the _hell_ -" He pulled himself through the rest of the hall as fast as he could, nearly jumping out of the ink to turn the corner the songwriter had vanished around-

Only to see a dead end… and the Bendy cutout sitting in front of a pentagram scratched on the wall.

Joey looked around, noting the trail of ink- but where the _hell_ had he gone?

The voice in his head whispered, _It's got something to do with this ink. It's everywhere, and that's unnatural… 'Who needs that much ink anyways?' Something is really off with all this._

 _It's not right…_

He turned around, noticing a closed metal gate- much like the ones that had penned him in upstairs- and a panel next to it, featuring three blinking lights.

Seems like the gate needed power.

He found himself searching for the three different switches- two of them were back down the flooded hall, and after coming back through it for the _third time_ he sat down, took off his shoes, then wrung out his socks. It was a pointless move- there was ink _everywhere_ , and it was more than likely he was gonna be covered in it at some point, and more than just _knee high_ or _waist high_ \- probably _neck high_ or _above_ _head_.

He slipped his slightly less soaked socks back on, then his shoes. He stood and walked over to the switchboard- all three lights were on. He threw the switch.

With a rumble and a lot of groaning, the metal gate slowly lifted- and just as it clicked into place, a low moan sounded- followed by the sound of a light flicking on.

Joey walked closer to the boarded up doorway- seriously, what was _up_ with all these boarded up areas- and listened, but there was nothing else. Quickly, he hacked his way through the wood, and walked in.

The music department kind of looked like shit at the moment.

Ink puddles scatteredeverywhere, only a few candles- god it was dark- and most of the lights were off. Looking around, Joey sighed before noticing the tape next to the sign- in the dark, it was hard to see, but this tape was labelled- _Lawrence_. He turned it on.

" _So first this Ink Machine is installed over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month we couldn't even get out of our department because the ink kept flooding the stairwell. The solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out all day. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don't write themselves, you know_."

Now _that_ sounded like Sammy…. the stairwell, right. Turning around, Joey walked to the stairs- and what do you know? It was flooded. The main power switch sat on the wall to the right, though- thankfully. He threw the switch, hearing the clicking of lights turning on- then wincing as the room suddenly filled with harsh light.

And then, the sound of ink dripping filled the room.

He turned, and walked back into the main room-

And a _glob_ of ink dropped from the ceiling, forming into a humanoid shape.

Almost instantly, it swiped at Joey, who raised the axe and swung back.

Only one of them made their mark.

The body- he assumed- melted, and returned to a regular puddle of ink.

And then there were more.

Before he got time to think, he was fighting the inky creatures as best he could- he wasn't a perfect aim with the axe- but eventually the last one took a hit and vanished, leaving Joey, panting, alone in the room as music began to play- and as a metal gate began to open.

And, finally, he got a chance to think, and a chill ran down his back.

 _Those things… weren't right_.

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A/N: _jesus fuckin shit this is gonna be hard_

i just rewatched someone play through it… _fuck_. I THOUGHT I WAS _DONE_ SHORTCUTTING CRAP-

Nope. Apparently not. Sorry, suckers, but we're shortcutting the hell out of this chapter… and Chapter 3. Saying it now so you don't wonder, because _no way in hell am I writing out that entire fucking annoying ass errand list_. The Angel can go suck a lemon.

(Am I reading too many fics these days…? I'm actually not swearing as much as I usually do. wow. thanks for the influence, fics.)

I can already tell this fic, if it gets finished _porperly_ ,(porperly? pfft), will be about 8 chapters _minimum_. so yeah. probably around 12 or 14…. excluding bullshit…

Is it crazy that I'm already looking forward to transcribing Chapter 3? Yes? No? Maybe,so? (hahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaahahah _sorry_ )

 _next up: cutouts. why_.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: oh wow. chapter 2 is gonna take a lot longer than i thought….

don't worry. we're getting to the fun stuff.

EDIT: _oh my god i'm so osrry i left you all hanging_

The worst part about this is I actually had this chapter _completely finished_ before I went on summer break. I just didn't have time to upload it. On one hand, this is good for you- I can just post this and run. On the other hand… I _did_ write… somewhat… of the next chapter while in a concussed state… but then left it on a device that I currently don't have access to. In other words- it's done but not within reach. So another chapter may take a while. However, as soon as I've got it done, it'll be up- and I can begin working on the next few chapters.

Thanks to DeadLyokoBrony, Jose Adrian Araux Sanchez, and RainFlight31039 for faving/following/reviewing. (Rain- I'm sure he will if he gets back up to the surface. Of course, the ones he's wearing are probably dyed black permanently... all his clothes, as a matter of fact. He came in wearing a couple of colors and whites, now he looks like he walked in a tar pit haha)

Enjoy.

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They were made of _ink_. But they moved- and took the form of _people_.

Joey walked to Sammy's office, eyes slightly glazed. He nearly ran into a wall once or twice, but managed to not trip. He barely noticed the infirmary was filled with ink.

And then there was the _thing_ that had been on the first floor- and then Boris.

 _Something_ had gone seriously wrong.

He stopped, groaning when he saw the area in front of the music director's door was _flooded_ \- and ink continued to spill from an overhead pipe. It looked a little too dangerous to go through… meaning he'd need to find a way to shut off the ink here.

As he turned around, though, he spotted another tape. _Wally_ was written on a piece of tape towards the top. Quietly, he pressed play.

" _So I go to get my dustpan from the hall closet the other day, and guess what? I can't find my stupid keys. It's like they disappeared into thin air or something. All I can think of is that they must have fallen into one of the garbage cans as I was making my rounds last week. I just hope nobody tells Sammy. Because if he finds out I lost my keys again, I'm out of here._ "

And that was how Joey Drew found himself digging through all the trash cans in the department.

So far, he had no other real leads- and it was possible there was something helpful in the closet. Like maybe a scuba mask, so he could just walk through the ink. Or something.

After walking all the way into the projection booth, he managed to find the damn things- _how did they get all the way up here-_ before noticing a tape. He clicked it on.

" _Every day the same strange thing happens. I'll be up here in my booth, the band will be swinging, and suddenly Sammy Lawrence just comes marching in and shuts the whole thing down. Tells us all to wait in the hall. Then I hear him. He starts up my projector, and he dashes down from the projection booth and down to the recording studio like the little devil himself was chasing behind. Few seconds later, the projector turns off. But Sammy, oh no, he doesn't come out for a long time. This man is weird. Crazy weird. I got half a mind to talk to Henry about all this, I really do. But Henry has his own problems to deal with._ "

Joey made his way back to the closet. Upon opening it, he was met with a couple cans of bacon soup- and a tape. He clicked play.

" _Every artistic person needs a sanctuary. Joey Drew had his and I have mine. To enter, you only need know my favorite song. The banjo playfully clucks. The piano delicately calls. The violin shudders with a piercing voice. The drum thunders in triumph. Sing my song and my sanctuary will open to you."_ The tape clicked off.

Joey headed to the orchestra pit, taking a can of soup as he went.

When he walked in, it was almost creepy- nobody was there. It brought back the feeling of _wrong_ \- something he was growing to hate. Quickly, he shrugged it off, hurrying to play the instruments needed…

But nothing happened.

He looked around some more- maybe he'd missed something. He found a metal gate- and then another cassette tape, near the piano. He noticed the name on it- _Susie_. He pressed play.

" _It may only be my second month working for Joey Drew, but I can already tell I'm going to love it here! People really seem to enjoy my Alice Angel voice. Sammy says she may be as popular as Bendy some day. These past few weeks, I have voiced everything from talking chairs to dancing chickens. But this is the first character I really felt a connection with. Like she's a part of me. Alice and I, we are going places._ "

Okay, so that wasn't helping…

Just then, he remembered Norman's tape- and sighed, heading upstairs to the projector booth. Seemed the projector had to play at the same time as the music...

As soon as he managed to switch the projector on, he scrambled down the stairs and hurried to play the instruments needed- but the projector turned off before he could finish. Groaning, he slowly made his way back upstairs- then looked down into the seats and stopped.

A Bendy cutout stood there, innocently- even though he was _sure_ it hadn't been there a minute ago.

Joey, however, decided to leave that be for a minute. He had to get this damn sanctuary open- might have something useful in it. Maybe. Like a hidden exit or something.

The more he failed to play the instruments in time, the more cutouts appeared when he went back to the booth- he'd racked up five before he finally managed to finish playing the instruments before the projector flicked off.

And, finally, the damned metal gate across the room opened.

Panting, Joey walked in, noting the crazy amount of dust and cobwebs that had filled the hall, glancing at the instruments there. He turned the corner, noting the valve labelled _FLOW_ \- and the circle, the lit candle, and the writing on the wall.

 _SING A HAPPY SONG._

 _WHISTLE A MERRY TUNE._

 _WAIT FOR HIS ARRIVAL._

 _HE'S COMING VERY SOON._

Joey shuddered as a cold chill seemed to suddenly fill the room. He hurried to turn the valve, before quickly turning to leave.

Halfway down the hall, another Bendy cutout popped around the corner- and just as quickly, pulled back. The trick was still jarring, but not as much as before. Joey took a moment to breathe before turning the corner.

And, standing and watching in the section next to the projection booth, was an inky figure- one who was wearing a Bendy mask and overalls. It showed no greetings, just watched silently…

Joey started to walk away, towards the door.

He made it about two steps before all hell broke loose.

Ink puddles, the ones that appeared before the inky figures did- sprung from the floorboards, surrounding the man. He quickly began swinging, ignoring everything that came to mind. Their humanoid appearance, the sounds they made when they melted away…. he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Eventually, the things stopped coming. One had managed to hit him- and ink had begun _trailing_ along his arm for a moment, and it seemed to _grip_ before melting off. It was short, but it was…. not something he wanted to experience again.

The door to the recording studio popped open, and Joey quickly took the opportunity and bolted, slamming the door shut behind him even though it made no difference. He turned, then noticed something- the Infirmary was no longer flooded. He stopped, before sighing and walking down the ink-stained stairs. The light for the sign above flickered.

Almost instantly upon hitting the bottom step, another inky figure appeared. And just as quickly, the axe cut through it, causing it to collapse.

It was almost reflexive.

Taking a moment to look around, Joey noticed that the next valve was missing. Next to that was a switch for _UTILITY ACCESS…_ with any luck, it could help.

He threw the switch, then headed even further down.

He arrived in time for the metal doors to open- revealing the words written on a far wall. _DOWN HERE WE'RE ALL SINNERS._

Cheery.

He walked down the hall, groaning when he noticed the part up ahead was still filled with ink. Slowly, though, he stepped in, scowling at the wet shoes feeling again.

Joey began walking to the left, noting the boards blocking the way- and the ink figure behind them… which was wearing a hat… and holding the valve he needed.

Slowly, trying to not scare it off, Joey tried to get close enough to reach through the boards-

But it sunk into the ink, and popped back out a distance away, making more text on the walls visible- _THE SHEEP WILL COME TO SLAUGHTER_.

He frowned, and rounded the corner, walking on- and then stopped when he saw the little room set in the wall, with a desk, violin… and another tape. _JACK FAIN_ was scribbled in a scratchy handwriting.

" _I love the quiet, and that's hard to come by these busy times. And yeah, sure it might stink to high heavens down here, but it's just perfect for an old lyricist like me. Sammy's songs always got some bounce, but if I didn't get away once in a while, they'd never have any words to go with them. So I'll keep my mind a-singin', and my nose closed._ "

After stepping back into the ink, he made his way down to a small room, with two cylinders with levers on them on either side- and the figure in the middle. This time, he ran towards it- trying to get there before it could vanish- but it seemed to leave _faster_ than before, reappearing in a different corner of the room.

Instantly, Joey groaned again- because there was probably _no_ easy way to get that valve back.

This might take some work.

After some whining, begging, messing around with the levers, and chasing the figure around, Joey eventually managed to get the valve back. After quelling the small bit of guilt that cropped up- _because guilt wasn't something he could indulge in, not here, not yet_ \- he put the valve back on and twisted it, then sighed.

"And that should be it." He shut his eyes, leaning against the wall for a minute- he'd spent an unreasonable amount of time trying to _run_ after the figure, so of course now he was _tired_. He huffed before standing up and heading back towards Sammy's office.

The pipe had stopped leaking- and the door was unlocked. He opened it, then threw the switch.

His eyes got drawn over to the wall- _IT'S TIME TO BELIEVE_. Again…

Joey left the office, rubbing his eyes. Once he got up the stairs, out of here, he would probably put the boards back on the door and then collapse in his car. Tomorrow was his day off… technically, he wasn't supposed to be here today, but he'd called in sick once he'd decided to see what was going on here.

All in all, a stupid decision, but it was too late to fix it now.

He turned the corner, already able to see that the stairwell wasn't flooded-

 _Clang_.

Everything flashed white as a pain rippled through Joey's head, and he wasn't able to completely turn around before hitting the floor, everything fading away.

The last thing he saw was the figure that had been next to the projection booth, holding a very familiar dustpan… whispering softly, " _Rest your head. It's time for bed._ "

And then it all went black.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

A/N: did i say we were getting somewhere? ha, ha. heh. no.

so thanks to MsFaust on Ao3, i got a damn idea. As in, BATIM but with Persona 5 poured in. And redemption arcs. And Personas. And _i fucking hate them for giving me this idea but i'm gonna mess with it anyways-_

on that note, who's prepping for whatever hell Chapter 5 will bring? All I know is that I should be able to figure out what I'm going to do with this AU instantly- change the ending to something different, or keep the original one. We'll see...

so yeah


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